


Those Grey Days

by TheRoyalPrussianArmy



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Can be read as gen or slash, Dealing with mental health, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, No actual self harm, Not Canon Compliant, mentions of self harm, unlabeled mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 00:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12759090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoyalPrussianArmy/pseuds/TheRoyalPrussianArmy
Summary: The bad days weren't always days. They could creep up, like some small, silent predator and deliver a swift bite that poisoned its victim's outlook. A blue sky could turn into grey one heartbeat after a laugh. The gentle sound of the wind in the trees would suddenly become overwhelmingly irritating. Even so much as a door closing or footsteps across the floor could lead to a strong desire to cry and scream, to rage and throw things. They would always pass, of course, but in the moment they were devastating.





	Those Grey Days

**Author's Note:**

> Friendly reminder that mental health is a very serious thing and should not be taken lightly my friendos. If you can get help, get help. Nobody should have to suffer through grey days.
> 
> Also a friendly reminder that though you shouldn't use people as constant crutches for yourself, you shouldn't be afraid to let them help. Friends are they to support you when you can't support yourself. It's okay to need help from other people.

The bad days weren't always days. They could creep up, like some small, silent predator and deliver a swift bite that poisoned its victim's outlook. A blue sky could turn into grey one heartbeat after a laugh. The gentle sound of the wind in the trees would suddenly become overwhelmingly irritating. Even so much as a door closing or footsteps across the floor could lead to a strong desire to cry and scream, to rage and throw things. They would always pass, of course, but in the moment they were devastating. They were the thoughts of hate, of loathing, of death. They were the desire to stop breathing, to see what would happen when one disappeared, to just want to let go because everything ends eventually, even this feeling, but maybe this feeling could be the end. The bad days weren't always days. Sometimes they were moments, long or short as they felt, instead.

 

Todd was perhaps the king of bad moments, of bad days. They had started in high school, when he first realized his dreams of becoming a big name rockstar were just that- dreams. The band was a sham, his grades were worse, and there was never peace in his house between his sister wanting to drum at all times and his parents arguing about whatever they felt like arguing about that day. Todd didn't know when it started, exactly, but he knew that one day it had all become too much. He had sat in his room, staring at the homework on his desk that taunted him, and felt the grey settle over him. Everything became just a bit darker, just a bit drearier. _“Useless.”_ His brain murmured. _“Worthless, useless, piece of trash. Can't sing, can't play guitar, can't do your homework, can't make your parents happy, can't entertain your sister. What good are you? None. Why are you here still? What use is it to be here?”_

 

The thoughts scared him but he couldn't fight them. He felt weak. The pencil in his hand felt like a weight he couldn't lift. Todd sat there, listening and staring and thinking, the desire to cry welling up in his chest until he was blinking his eyes desperately to keep tears from falling. _“I am never getting better.”_ He thought. _“I will never be anything to anyone.”_

 

And then, as quickly as they had come the thoughts left. Amanda bounced into his room and hugged him, told him some story about a slug and a butterfly and peanut butter that made him laugh. _“How could I ever think that?”_ Todd thought later as he brushed his teeth, grinning at his reflection. _“I don't have to be everything for everybody. I can be anything for me.”_

 

But thinking that and protecting his mind was not the easiest of tasks. The thoughts slipped in still when he didn't expect them. But then, that's what they were waiting for. A smile, a laugh, and then just one wrong word and he would spiral, tumultuous emotions invisible to those around him. Sometimes he could feel the thoughts creeping up on him. He could see the grey encroaching on his eyes. Through finishing high school and going to college, he learned the signs. The dip in his stomach, the weary draw of the day. The way his brain would feel heavy and the slightest thing would set off his temper. He grew used to it, to the days and moments and thoughts that would come. He never told his parents, or his sister, or his friends. He was in a band that was succeeding! He was getting money from his parents by lying to them about a disease! All was good even as it was all terrible. He couldn't tell anyone. He couldn't say anything. He had to be strong, and he had to be strong for himself.

 

“You don't have to fight it alone,” one of his girlfriends said once. She had stuck around longer than most. She had seen his bad days, his bad moments. The times when he would grit his teeth and clench his fist and stand, staring at the wall, telling himself that everything was useless and helpless and why was he even here? She had watched the thoughts creep on him, slowly making him grey and tired, and then leave like a thief in the night. She tried so hard. She did her best for him. She supported him and held him and told him it would be okay. “You don't have to fight it alone,” she insisted. “You have friends you can rely on. You can trust them to help you. It's okay to let people in.” But he couldn't. He was a liar and a fraud and they didn't deserve the pain that came from wrestling with his bad days, the thoughts that came with them.

 

She left him when she decided that if he wouldn't help himself, she wouldn't waste her life on him. Todd always told himself she lied, anyway. On a bad day, an extra-bad super-grey day, after he’d sold the gear and filed for insurance, when his friends found out and he told them and apologized - _God_ how he'd apologized - and they yelled at him and threw out, out of the apartment, out of the band, out of the life he'd had and the friends he'd had… He had to fight it alone. He couldn't trust anyone else.

 

He did his best to make sure his bad days didn't affect Amanda. She had the family disease, the one he'd lied about, the one he had miraculously recovered from. She had the _real_ bad days, he told himself. She couldn't leave the house without fear of catching on fire, or freezing, or stepping onto a bed of rusty nails. In comparison, their bad days were nothing alike. Amanda's were so much worse and Todd deserved the pain he got. She didn't. He made sure she never knew, never learned about his bad days. Nobody could know about his bad days. Nobody would understand them.

 

For a solid week his days were bright. There was no grey, no tiredness, no weight on his shoulders besides the regular. He saw red and blue, got electrocuted and upset, and carried Dirk. But the days, though bad, were not his bad days. He could handle them easily. He did not want to claw his ears off in the morning when cars would drive by. He would not scream into his pillow because the chirping of the birds was too much. He did not lay in bed wondering how much better the world would be off without him in it. He was up and about and moving, distracted and laughing and digging up pieces of a time machine and watching a weaponized shark soul in a kitten destroy people. He traveled in time and hurt Dirk and hurt Amanda and saved Dirk's life and rescued both a corgi and a girl after throwing the girl-corgi off a bridge. He was standing in front of Dirk, in front of his friend, in front of a hospital, holding a jacket and a shirt. “I'm here because I'm your friend.” For a week he was **_alive_ **.

 

And then, in the blink of an eye, it was back. There was electricity burning his skin and the world was grey. There was no reason to continue because he could only hurt those he cared about. He was useless and weak and couldn't do anything right. He had a friend, he finally had friends, and he had lost them. He had lost his friend. The universe did not find him fit to be deserving of such a friend, and Todd couldn't blame it.

 

Farah was a better friend than Todd deserved. Farah deserved a world of color and ease and happiness. Farah deserved a world she understood, that didn't make her scream in frustration and anxiety. Farah deserved a better friend than Todd, who was weak and hateful and wanted by the FBI for daring to have a friend.

 

But Farah was brave when Todd couldn't be. She did not let the grey consume him. She reminded him of who they were looking for, of why. His friend, his best friend, the man who had brought color and happiness and excitement. The man who had made the grey disappear. Dirk was a honey badger to the grey lion that wrapped paws around Todd's throat to smother him, a mongoose to the heavy cobra that sank its fangs into his neck and turned the world from vividness to worn out sepia. She did not let him mourn his birth or his life, did not let him yell and hit the wall when he was overwhelmed. She did not let him take carefully sharpened blades to skin begging for sensation, for feeling, for something.

 

Farah deserved so much more.

 

“Everything will be alright once we find Dirk.” Todd said. He said it bright, happy, because it had to be true. Dirk had to bring the color back to his life. Once they found Dirk, once they found Amanda, all would be well. The color would return and Amanda would be okay and maybe she would forgive him but maybe it was better if she didn't, because Todd wouldn't. “We'll find Dirk and Amanda and everything will work out.” Todd insisted.

 

They found Dirk and all did not work out. There was color, yes, but Dirk carried the same grey with him that Todd did. His vibrancy did not help Todd liven up. Todd tried, so hard, to keep his color. In the cell, eyes shut, listening- “stay, stay, stay,” he would whisper in the darkness, “don't let it get me, Dirk is back, it's all supposed to be okay.”

 

But it wasn't, because Dirk was human too, not a set of paints for Todd to color his life with. Dirk was not Todd's battery for recharging his emotions and brain. Dirk was, Todd discovered with tears in his eyes as he bit into the pillow and dug nails into his arms to keep from making any sound, just as noisy as the birds and the wind and the cars. Dirk was not a miracle with a British accent and horrible fashion sense. Dirk was Dirk, and Todd could see that Farah could see he was slowly unraveling. The string he had wrapped so tight to keep himself happy, to insist once Dirk was found everything would be fixed, was fraying at the edges and sinking, slipping, falling.

 

“Todd…” Farah said, and Todd shook his head.

 

When they returned home, after months of being gone and trying to find color, Todd didn't know if it was better or worse. Dirk was nearby, always so close, and he helped. It would be a lie to say otherwise. He helped with the color in Todd's life. He helped to bring it and keep it and remind it of where it should be. The bad days weren't quite as bad, or maybe he was better at hiding them. With Dirk around, always around, blaming himself for everything even though he was better now, Todd couldn't let himself have bad days. He couldn't let the grey sneak up on him, couldn't let its fangs dig in and tear down his walls.

 

Farah wouldn't let him stay like that. She couldn't. He deserved more, she said. _Todd, you deserve better,_ she said. And she called Dirk one day, and Todd knew the moment he stepped foot out the door the grey was coming. He locked it and looked at the apartment and took a deep breath that weighed as heavy as an anchor upon his chest.

 

 _“Useless, worthless, drag on life,”_ it hissed to him, _“a waste of space, of air, of assisting. You call yourself a friend, a best friend, when you know you're only looking, staying, getting information so that the moment you're hurt you can make it ten times as bad for them. Why are you still here?”_

 

Todd shuffled to the bed, feet feeling like cement, and took a deep breath. His nose was clogged and his ears were ringing. He crawled into the bed and pulled the covers up over his head and let himself be engulfed. The grey feeling had him, just as it always did. He let it take over, stared at the blanket, and wondered why he was there, why he was around, why Dirk let him stay.

 

He never heard Dirk come back, silent as the grey feeling itself. So deep in his mind, in his nails digging into his skin, he didn't notice Dirk's approach. The soft footsteps across hard floor, breathing so quiet and hesitant it wouldn't even move a bubble floating in air. The first touch of Dirk's hand to his arm, on top of the covers, resulted in barely a flinch. Todd closed his eyes, squeezed them shut, as Dirk slowly crawled into the bed. His friend rested one arm over his shoulder, on the covers, and held Todd like he was the most fragile thing he'd ever encountered. Todd wanted to break.

 

“I wish you would have told me.” Dirk whispered into the heavy silence between them. “I know why you didn't, why you don't. But I wish you did.” Farah must have told him. They deserved better. Todd must have said something to that effect out loud because Dirk sucked in a breath and tightened his grip, squeezed Todd, and then slowly wiggled his way under the covers to properly hold the other man. Dirk rested his hand against Todd's grey skin, stroking his iron hair with a hand akin to sunlight. “It's okay Todd. It will be okay. The grey times will end and the color will come back.” Even his words, soft as the breath of a newborn hummingbird, were too loud. Todd squeezed his eyes shut, trembling as his body tensed, trying to deal with the stimulus and the desire for contact even as he wanted to explode into nothingness, maybe leaving a crater behind. Some form of “I was here.” Tears slipped down his cheeks and Dirk cradled him, quiet as death, gentle as his name.

 

“I should have seen you were hurting too. I'll do better, Todd. We'll do better together.” Dirk says later, when Todd has his face rested on Dirk's chest, when he doesn't feel like the universe is plucking him apart at the seams. “The bad days will come, but it will be okay. I will be there. Pinky promise.”

 

And he does.

 

And Dirk is.


End file.
